


eurotrip

by ephemeraldt



Category: Dreamcatcher (Korea Band)
Genre: Backpacking through Europe, Drinking, F/F, Getting over a Breakup, Light Angst, Recreational Drug Use, Some mediocre philosophizing on the meaning of youth, Youth Hostels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-07
Updated: 2020-01-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:29:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22164100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ephemeraldt/pseuds/ephemeraldt
Summary: Siyeon shakes her head. “The London Eye is for tourists.”“I am a tourist,” Yoohyeon points out. “And so are you.”“No, you don’t get it. Tourist is a mindset. You can choose to not be one. All you have to do is look beyond what they’re selling you.”(or the one where Yoohyeon gets dumped and travels to the other side of the continent to find herself, and ends up finding more.)
Relationships: Kim Minji | JiU/Kim Yoohyeon, Kim Yoohyeon/Lee Siyeon
Comments: 24
Kudos: 134





	eurotrip

**Author's Note:**

> see the end notes for content warnings
> 
> this is a fictional story with fictional characters based loosely on the public personas of real people. if this bothers you, or you or someone you know is mentioned here, please do us both a favor and read something else.

If you asked her, Yoohyeon would say it started when she and Yubin drank too much rum and coke and marathoned old Mary Kate and Ashley movies for four hours. “I want to go _there,”_ Yoohyeon had said, gesturing to whatever European city was currently on the screen, and Yubin said “why don’t you?” Yoohyeon booked her flight that night, right before puking all over Yubin’s shower curtain. 

If she’s being honest, though, it started when Minji broke up with her. 

(“This was a mistake,” Minji said, like it hadn’t been obvious from the beginning. Like a TA dating a student was ever anything else. _I thought you knew,_ Yoohyeon almost said, except she didn’t want to come off bitter, even though she was. So she just left without saying anything.)

It’s probably a cliché, to spend a month backpacking through Europe to get over an ex. But if Yoohyeon is going to spend the summer being emo over Minji, she’d rather do it somewhere she can take pictures than in-between shifts at the same Baskin Robbins she’s worked at since high school. Even if she doesn’t gain anything, at least she’ll have some stories to tell. 

“Who knows,” Yubin says, sitting on Yoohyeon’s bed not being helpful, as Yoohyeon attempts to fit one more pair of jeans in her overflowing suitcase. “Maybe you’ll find yourself.”

“What’s there to find?” Yoohyeon replies. But when she thinks about it later, she figures that if there’s a version of herself out there with a clear head, it's worth looking for, at least.

**Edinburgh**

Yoohyeon shows up at the hostel in Edinburgh with rain soaked through her socks. Of course she knew rain in Scotland was a thing, but it would have been nice if someone had warned her about the thunderstorm. 

_You’re on your own now,_ Yoohyeon reminds herself. _You have to check your own goddamn weather app._

She’s jet-lagged and tired from figuring out the tram, and all she wants to do is check in so she can fall asleep. But there’s no one behind the front desk — just a string of broken Christmas lights draped over the counter. She looks for a bell to ring, but there isn’t one. 

Yoohyeon sighs, using the hem of her sweatshirt to wipe some of the rainwater off her face. The first day of the trip, and something’s already going wrong. And it’s _June,_ it shouldn’t be legal for her to be this cold. “Fuck,” she mutters. 

It must have been louder than she thought, because one of the girls sitting at the bar next to front desk spins around on her stool.

“I’ll drink to that,” the girl says, lifting her beer towards Yoohyeon in a mock toast before taking a heavy sip. In a black turtleneck and cargo pants, she has an intimidating look. Her blue hair is cut bluntly around her chin, the color slightly faded. Yoohyeon suddenly can’t bring herself to speak. It must be the jet-lag. “Do you want anything? They give you twenty percent off your first drink.”

“I’m too wet,” Yoohyeon finally says. Then she wishes she could kick her brain, because it sounds stupid. 

“No such thing as too wet,” the girl replies with a completely straight face. “I’m Siyeon.”

Yoohyeon considers extending her hand, but this girl doesn’t seem like the handshake type. “Yoohyeon.”

“Nice to meet you, fellow traveller,” Siyeon says. 

“Thanks.”  
  
“Is it your first time?”  
  
“First time what?”

Siyeon’s lips quirk up slightly. “You know, doing the whole ‘lost soul backpacking through Europe thing.’”

 _Am I a lost soul?_ Yoohyeon wonders. The thought hadn’t occurred to her. Minji used to talk about souls a lot, but Minji would also meditate every morning, which Yoohyeon could never bring herself to do. “Yeah, it’s my first time.”

Siyeon nods slowly, not taking her eyes off Yoohyeon. Her gaze is so sharp that Yoohyeon feels like it’s going straight through her. “Then I hope you find what you’re looking for.” 

Yoohyeon doesn’t know what to say to that. She doesn’t know why there has to be a reason for everything. Then again, it does feel like there is some purpose to this trip, an explanation for why she chose to travel alone. She just can’t seem to identify what it is. 

But that’s not the conversation she wants to be having on zero hours of sleep, with this attractive but intimidating stranger. So she gives an answer that won’t prompt more questions. “I hope I do too.” 

When Yoohyeon finally checks in and the receptionist shows her to her room, she finds the cleanliness a pleasant surprise. The air smells a little like body odor, but no situation is perfect.

Sleeping in a hostel, Yoohyeon finds, is a lot like sleeping in a college dorm, except you don’t have to bring your own sheets and you’re sharing a room with five other people instead of just one. The fact that two of those five people snore loudly all night isn’t _ideal_ , but Yoohyeon brought earplugs. She read the Huffpost article her Mom emailed her. She’s prepared. She can do this. 

She can do this. 

The hostel might be for “youth,” but when Yoohyeon wakes up in the morning, she feels older than she has in months. Mature. She wonders for a second what Minji would think, but then reminds herself this isn’t about Minji, and pushes the thought away. 

“Hey, a few people from my room are going clubbing. Wanna come?” 

It’s Siyeon again. For some reason, Yoohyeon assumed she left town already. The guest lounge is empty except for them and some kid in the corner, tapping away at a laptop. _What work could he possibly be doing,_ Yoohyeon wonders. _It’s summer._

The lounge is located downstairs, away from the lobby and the non-guests who like to hang out at the bar until it closes. Siyeon couldn’t have just wandered in; she must have been looking for someone. Looking for Yoohyeon. Something flutters in Yoohyeon’s stomach, and she wishes, for a brief second, that she could accept the offer. 

“I can’t, I’m sorry. I have to call my Mom.”

Siyeon raises her eyebrows slightly. “Call your Mom?”

“I told her I would.”

“That’s cute,” Siyeon says, and Yoohyeon can’t tell if she’s being genuine. Something about her tone makes Yoohyeon feel defensive.  
  
“Yeah,” Yoohyeon says. “And clubbing isn’t really my thing anyway. Also I’m leaving early tomorrow. But you have fun.” 

“Thanks. I will,” Siyeon says, turning to leave. She stops before she gets to the doorway, shoving her hands in her pockets. “And I’m leaving tomorrow too, but I’ll see you around.”

 _It’s a big continent,_ Yoohyeon thinks. But it feels rude to point out. “Yeah. See you around.”

**London**

On the train to London, Yoohyeon deletes every picture of Minji on her phone except one. It’s this slightly blurry picture Yoohyeon took of Minji making a kissy face next to a parrot fish that time they went to the aquarium. It always used to make Yoohyeon laugh. Now it just makes her heart hurt. 

_Baby steps,_ she tells herself. 

The hostel in London is a short walk from King’s Cross station. The place feels grimier than the Edinburgh hostel, but the sun is shining outside, and that’s all the luck Yoohyeon can ask for right now. She unpacks her camera and locks the rest of her stuff in one of the trunks. 

Traveling alone is weird. Yoohyeon finds herself constantly forgetting that she doesn’t have any schedule to follow but her own. If Yubin were here, for instance, she’d probably launch into a boring lecture about how all monarchies are evil and unnecessary and shouldn’t be romanticized as tourist attractions. But Yubin isn’t here, and Yoohyeon wants to see Buckingham Palace. So that’s where she goes. 

She spends about ten minutes taking pictures of various things that catch her eye, including the ornate seal on the front of the gate and two dachshunds chasing each other around a tree while their owner reads on a bench. It isn’t until she points her Nikon at one of the stiff-looking guards, however, that a shock of faded blue hair pops up in her viewfinder. 

_No,_ Yoohyeon thinks. _No way. It can’t be._

“Hey, it's Yoohyeon, right?” 

It is. 

“I told you I’d see you around,” Siyeon calls, face breaking out into a smile as she makes her way across the crowded sidewalk to Yoohyeon’s side. She’s got a nice smile; it emphasizes her sharp cheekbones and makes her eyes turn into little crescents. Yoohyeon tries not to stare. “Of course, I didn’t think it’d be the very next day, but when in Rome, right?”

 _That’s not how you use that expression, and we’re in London, not Rome._ “Yeah, wow,” Yoohyeon says. “Crazy.”

She should say more, because suddenly the silence between them is heavy and awkward, even with all the tourists around. But she can’t think of anything. Luckily, Siyeon opens her mouth first. 

“You know, I always thought I’d come here with my ex. She was really into the royals and everything. Made me stay up late to watch that damn wedding.” 

“When did you break up?” Yoohyeon asks.

“About three months ago. It was mutual.”

Yoohyeon nods. She still isn’t sure how she feels about Siyeon, since she doesn’t know anything about her, but she wants to keep the conversation going. Maybe it’s just nice to have something in common with someone. “I got dumped.” 

“Fuck. That sucks.”

“Well, she was technically my teacher. She was being a good person.”

Siyeon hums thoughtfully. “Yeah, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t suck. You’re allowed to be upset, you know.”

“Yeah,” Yoohyeon says. “I know.” 

They wind up at some pub in Mayfair that Siyeon’s friend recommended. Siyeon orders Yoohyeon’s beer for her, which Yoohyeon tries not to think too hard about. 

“So what are your plans for this afternoon?” Siyeon asks. 

“I don’t really have any,” Yoohyeon confesses. “Big Ben, maybe. Or the London Eye?”

Siyeon shakes her head. “Both total wastes of time. Big Ben is just a clock, nothing special, and the London Eye is for tourists.”  
  
“I _am_ a tourist,” Yoohyeon points out. “And so are you.” 

“No, you don’t get it. Tourist is a mindset. You can choose to not be one. All you have to do is look beyond what they’re selling you.” She eyes Yoohyeon’s camera, sitting on the table. “You like art, right?” 

So they go to the Tate Modern. As soon as Yoohyeon steps inside, she knows she wouldn’t have wanted to spend the afternoon anywhere else. Her and Siyeon make their way through the gallery rooms, not speaking to each other except for the occasional whispered observation. In a room full of Matisse paintings, the way Siyeon’s hair contrasts with the colors of the exhibit catches Yoohyeon’s eye. 

“Can I take some pictures of you?” Yoohyeon asks, before she can think. She doesn’t regret it though, once the words are out there. 

Siyeon looks surprised and, to Yoohyeon’s astonishment, a little shy. “Um, sure. Do you want me to smile?”

“No,” Yoohyeon says, taking her lens cap off. “Just…be.”

So they move through the museum, Siyeon looking at the art and Yoohyeon looking at Siyeon. It isn’t hard to find good angles; Siyeon seems to be made of them.

At one point, Siyeon giggles at a caricature on display, and then covers her mouth with her hand. “Shit. You told me not to smile.”

“It’s okay,” Yoohyeon says, snapping away. “I don’t mind.”

“Where are you headed?” Siyeon asks as they make their way towards the nearest Tube stop. 

“King’s Cross.”

“Oh. I’m staying on the other side of the river.” 

Yoohyeon figures there’s no chance they’ll run into each other _again_ , but she wants to ask Siyeon about her next destination anyway. Maybe this afternoon was just the two of them filling time, choosing not to be lonely, but it feels like more. Yoohyeon doesn’t know why, but it feels like more. 

Before she can say something, however, Siyeon cuts her off. 

“I’m sorry if it seemed like I was judging you when you said you were gonna call your Mom, back in Scotland. I really did think it was cute. Completely unfamiliar to me, but cute.” 

Yoohyeon blinks. She’d almost forgotten that happened. “Oh. It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”

“Just wanted to let you know,” Siyeon says, shoving her hands in the pockets of her baggy pants. “I’ll see you around.”

Then, in a blink, Siyeon turns and leaves, disappearing into the throng of people rushing towards the District line platform. Yoohyeon is left fumbling for her Oyster card, wishing she had caught Siyeon by the wrist before she turned away. Asked for her number, maybe, or where the rest of her journey is headed. But just as quickly as Siyeon had appeared, she vanished. 

The moment reminds Yoohyeon of a book she read in a modernist literature class once. She can’t quite place the title, but she can place the feeling: a little lost, a little confused. Like a word on the tip of her tongue, a thought without a name. Something so close but just out of reach. 

**Amsterdam**

There’s a friendly, youthful vibrancy to Amsterdam. Yoohyeon feels like she’s being welcomed with open arms the minute she steps out of the train station. She knows Amsterdam has a reputation as a party city, a place where young people go to get high and have a good time. There are probably more hostels than hotels downtown, or at least it seems that way. 

Which is why it’s completely, jaw-droppingly inconceivable when Yoohyeon opens the door to her room and finds Siyeon sitting on one of the bottom bunks, lacing up her combat boots. 

Of all the cities, of all the hostels, of all the _rooms_. 

“Woah,” Siyeon says, eyebrows raised in surprise. “You know, when I said I’d see you around, I didn’t think you’d take me so literally.”

 _Did she know I was going to be here?_ Yoohyeon wonders. _Is that why she disappeared so suddenly?_

“Anyway, I’m planning to go check out the 9 Streets. You wanna come?” Siyeon asks.

“No thanks,” Yoohyeon answers. Her voice sounds higher-pitched than usual. “I just got here, so I’m going to chill for a little bit.”

“Suit yourself,” Siyeon says, swinging a backpack over one shoulder. 

When Siyeon leaves, Yoohyeon is left alone in the room. She’s stayed in hostels long enough now to know that moments alone never last long. She has to take advantage of this opportunity while it's here, so she reaches for her phone and scrolls to Yubin’s contact. International calling costs be damned. 

“I’ve seen this girl in three different cities now,” Yoohyeon says once Yubin picks up. She’s curled up in the corner of her top bunk. “Do you think she’s following me?”  
  
“Did you tell her where you were going?” Yubin asks.

“No.” _I didn’t get the chance._

“Then it’s highly unlikely she’s following you,” Yubin says thoughtfully. “Unless she’s a sociopath who hacked your Google calendar.” 

“Shut up. That wasn’t even on my mind, and now it is.” 

“You like her though, right?”  
  
“No, I don’t _like_ her.”  
  
“I meant 'like' as in, regular like,” Yubin says. “Not like-like or whatever you say because you’re emotionally stunted.”

Yoohyeon thinks back to the museum, when she was taking pictures and Siyeon was laughing. “She’s fine, I guess.”

“Then isn’t it a good thing you keep seeing her? You should make friends. You’re allowed to have other friends, you know. I give you permission.”

“I don’t need your permission.”

“Then what are you waiting for? Go be friends with her.” 

Yubin always has a way of making Yoohyeon feel more confident, but when they hang up the call, Yoohyeon still feels something holding her back. It shouldn’t be a big deal - it’s not like she’s proposing that she and Siyeon get attached at the hip or anything. She’s just making a new friend. Making new friends is normal. Yubin does it all the time. 

But Siyeon is...intriguing. Mysterious and a little awkward, with a genuine smile and a surefire sense of self that radiates from within. She’s magnetic, almost, and that plants a seed of hesitation in Yoohyeon’s stomach. Because as much as Yubin teases her about being dense, Yoohyeon can spot the people she’ll fall for from a mile away. And if she falls, there’s always a chance they’ll step back and watch her splatter on the ground. 

(Yoohyeon knew she’d fall for Minji the moment she stepped into her first Transnational Feminisms seminar and saw the girl with purple hair beaming in front of the smartboard, holding a tupperware of chocolate chip cookies. 

_I know the first week of classes can be hard, so I thought you guys could use something sweet!_

It was at that moment Yoohyeon decided there was no better person in the world than Kim Minji, and also that she realized she was fucked. Although she didn’t know just _how_ fucked. When they started dating, Yoohyeon felt like she fell impossibly fast, an avalanche of feelings over a cliff’s edge that somehow landed safely in Minji’s arms. When Minji broke up with her, she realized the fall was a lot further than she realized, and she actually hadn't stopped falling until the moment things ended and she crash-landed in a pit of sharp rocks and brutal reality.)

So she’s not as quick to rush in anymore. Sue her. Traveling alone is dangerous enough; there’s no reason for her to put even more at risk. 

Yoohyeon is just finishing unpacking her suitcase when Siyeon returns to the room. To Yoohyeon’s surprise, Siyeon stops and places a Heineken on the ground next to her. 

“You don’t have to drink it if you don’t want to,” Siyeon says. “I just...didn’t know if you’d be up to going out, and a friend once told me it’s bad luck to be sober your first night in Amsterdam.”

“Oh! Wow,” Yoohyeon exclaims, reaching for her backpack. “Um, how much did it-”

“Don’t worry about it,” Siyeon says with a wave, sitting down on her bunk. From her jacket pocket, she pulls an identical bottle for herself. “Consider it a gift.”  
  
Against her will, Yoohyeon blushes. She reaches for the bottle opener on her keychain, far too aware of Siyeon’s eyes on her. “Thanks.”

They drink in silence for a few minutes. Then, Yoohyeon speaks. “Did your friend really say it’s bad luck to be sober your first night in Amsterdam?”

Siyeon snorts out a laugh. “To be honest, no. I made that up. I just wanted to buy you a drink.”

“Why?” Yoohyeon asks, lips quirking. 

“You seemed like you needed one.” 

Sigh. “That obvious, huh?”

“Break-ups are hard,” Siyeon says. “And you think traveling the world will magically fix everything. Like you can fill the emptiness with experience, or whatever. And sometimes it works, but sometimes it’s just lonely. Because you go to all these different places and you see how beautiful everything is and it’s still not as beautiful as it was when you had them in your life.” 

Siyeon speaks with resignation, not bitterness. Yoohyeon really didn’t expect for her to open up so suddenly. “You’ve been through this before, huh?”

“Couple times,” Siyeon says, with a wink that sends a rush through Yoohyeon’s body. “It’s not a terrible way to cope, though. You can’t beat the benefits. I have friends in almost every major city, including multiple karaoke bar owners who give me free drinks.”

“And sometimes it works,” Yoohyeon points out. 

“Yeah,” Siyeon says. “And sometimes it works.”

They’re interrupted by the door opening. Two guys walk in, lugging suitcases and speaking rapid-fire Portuguese. Siyeon blinks and then shakes her head, like she’s trying to jerk a thought away. 

“Thanks again for this,” Yoohyeon says, finishing her beer. She gets up to give the Portuguese guys room to unpack. Square footage is a rare commodity in hostel rooms. “And before I forget, I just have to ask. You didn’t hack my Google calendar by any chance, did you?” 

Siyeon bursts out laughing. “Not really my style,” she says. And Yoohyeon feels light and a little relieved, so she laughs too. 

The next day, Yoohyeon has plans to get lost in the city. She wants to take pictures of canals and bicycles and anything else that seems interesting. Maybe she’ll try pickled herring, just to tell Yubin that she did. 

Then she makes the mistake of checking Instagram, and everything sort of just...crumbles.

The picture on the top of her feed is from Minji’s account, which she’s still following because she’s an idiot. It shows a brunch spread all laid out, with beautiful poached eggs and croissants and sliced peaches in a bowl, the light hitting everything perfectly. But that’s not what grabs Yoohyeon’s attention. What grabs Yoohyeon’s attention is the girl in the photo — she’s beautiful, which isn’t surprising, because all of Minji’s friends are, but she’s also staring at the camera with soft eyes and, oh yeah, _holding Minji’s fucking hand._

It’s all too much: the food, the framing, the gentle light, the _hand-holding._ So sickeningly domestic, and so grown-up. Yoohyeon is suddenly aware of her messy hair, her baggy sweatshirt, the circles under her eyes.

There’s a rustling sound from the other side of the room, and Yoohyeon watches as one of the Portuguese guys rolls over sleepily and reaches for a vape pen. It kind of makes her want to cry. 

_Who the hell am I kidding,_ she thinks. _Who the hell do I think I am, really._

She feels young and stupid. She wants to do something young and stupid. And then the Portuguese guy exhales, and a cloud of smoke rises to the ceiling, and Yoohyeon remembers what city she’s in. 

When she goes out, she leaves her camera behind. Plans change. 

There’s an overwhelming number of “coffeeshops” in Amsterdam, none of which actually sell coffee. A lot of them are decorated with rasta imagery and neon light-up marijuana leaves and signs that say things like “Fifty Shades of Blazed” and “I Heart 420,” which, sure. The one with the best reviews on Yelp, though, looks more like a French patisserie than Yoohyeon’s idea of a weed dispensary. The countertops are white marble and the lettering on the menu is gold. Most of the other customers are middle-aged professional types. It feels like a safe enough choice, so Yoohyeon gets in line.

When it’s her turn to order, she decides on an edible. She’s not much of a smoker, which Yubin always gives her shit for, and with the way her stomach is turning, she needs something strong. 

The brownie is surprisingly good — like there aren’t even drugs in it. Before Yoohyeon can really process much, she’s eaten the whole thing. 

Everything is fine for about an hour, and then things go south, quick. Yoohyeon is sitting at a cafe, trying to eat a crêpe, when it occurs to her that her brain is melting. 

_Fuck._

She’s gotten high before, but it’s never felt like this. And judging by the way the air seems to be getting thicker, it’s only getting worse. Her chest feels tight, like breathing is no longer second nature, and the voices around her sound like they’re coming from underwater. 

_This is it,_ Yoohyeon thinks. _I am going to die._

Luckily, she isn’t far from the hostel, so she manages to make her way back before completely falling apart. She doesn’t feel safe climbing up to her top bunk, so she leans all her weight on the wall behind her, sinking down to the floor. 

She isn’t sure how long she stays there. She’s only aware that time has passed when the door swings open, letting a shaft of light in from the hallway.

“Hey, Yoohyeon,” she hears a voice say, but it all takes some time to process. “Yoohyeon? Are you okay?”

“I ate…” Yoohyeon says faintly, “a really bad brownie.”

A pair of combat boots come and stand in front of her. The boots are attached to a body. Siyeon’s body. The voice is Siyeon’s. “Did you eat the whole thing?” Siyeon asks. 

Yoohyeon nods, probably more times than she needs to. 

“Oh, honey. You never eat the whole thing. It’s okay though. It won’t kill you.”

“Are you sure?” 

“I’m sure. Here, give me a few minutes. I’ll go get you some real food.”

Siyeon was leaving. Siyeon can’t leave, then Yoohyeon would be all alone. “No,” Yoohyeon cries. She reaches out, grabbing onto Siyeon’s jacket sleeve. “You have to stay.”

“Okay,” Siyeon says, and Yoohyeon feels a cool hand come to rest on her forehead. “Okay, I’ll stay. But you should lie down.”

Siyeon seems to agree that Yoohyeon climbing up to her bunk is impossible, because she helps Yoohyeon into her own. Yoohyeon rests her head on Siyeon’s pillow; she’d probably be more self-conscious if she wasn’t so out of her mind. Siyeon hands her a bottle of water and Yoohyeon gulps it down. 

“Unfortunately, all you can do is wait it out. You’re far from the first person to go a little overboard your first time here, if that makes you feel better.”

It doesn’t. “I just felt so stupid.”

“You’re not stupid,” Siyeon says gently. The part of Yoohyeon’s brain that’s not hurtling through space notices that Siyeon is now stroking her hair. It feels nice. 

“I _am_ stupid,” Yoohyeon says. “Stupid and immature.”  
  
“Please. I barely know you but I know you’re not immature. Do you know how many people are terrified of traveling alone? How many people can’t handle it?” Even though Yoohyeon still feels like she’s dying, Siyeon’s words are comforting. “I mean yeah, you made a mistake, but you got your ass back here. A lesser woman would have, I don’t know, collapsed on the street and gotten run over by a bicycle.” 

“Well,” Yoohyeon says. “You have a point.”

Once she’s a little more sobered up and a lot less dizzy, Siyeon suggests going out for french fries.

“The ones here are kinda famous, and you really should eat something.”  
  
It’s almost dark out on the street. Yoohyeon follows Siyeon to a kiosk around the corner from the hostel, where a smiley old man serves them cones of fries covered in mayonnaise. Yoohyeon pays, because she owes Siyeon for the beer and...everything else.

They eat on a bridge overlooking one of the canals. In the fading sunlight, Yoohyeon can barely make out their reflections in the water. Everything kind of blurs together. 

“Can I have your last fry?” Yoohyeon asks, because she finished hers and she’s still a little hungry. 

Siyeon looks back at her, wide-eyed. “ _Seriously?”_

“I got high!”

“You’re not high anymore,” Siyeon says, and pouts. “It’s _my fry._ ”

“Don’t be a baby.”  
  
“I’ll be a baby if I want to be,” Siyeon mutters. But then she rips the fry in half. “We can split it.”  
  
“Thank you,” Yoohyeon sing-songs, taking her half and popping it in her mouth.

“Yeah, yeah. Just remember that you owe me, you know, in case I ever need a kidney or something.” 

They fall into silence. _Siyeon is a nice person,_ Yoohyeon thinks. _Soft under all the hair dye and leather._ “Hey, thanks for taking care of me.”

“It’s no problem. You would have done the same thing.” Yoohyeon tries to interrupt, but Siyeon ignores her. “I’m good at reading people. You would have done the same thing.”

 _Yeah,_ Yoohyeon thinks, looking at Siyeon. _I would have done the same thing._

When Yoohyeon wakes up, Siyeon’s bed is made and her bags are gone. Yoohyeon didn’t know she was leaving. 

She feels confused and hurt, until she notices something scrawled on her forearm in black sharpie. A phone number. She knows immediately that it’s Siyeon’s, because who else could it be, and writing her number on someone’s arm while they’re _sleeping_ just seems like a very Siyeon thing to do. 

Yoohyeon copies the digits down and puts it in her contacts list. She doesn’t wash off the ink right away, even though she knows she should.

**Berlin**

On the train leaving Amsterdam, Yoohyeon decides to text Siyeon. _on the way to berlin!_ She types, followed by a train emoji. 

_no way,_ Siyeon texts back. _our minds._

_don’t tell me you’re in berlin too._

_not berlin, hamburg,_ Siyeon writes. _but tbh it’s kind of boring here. would it be weird if i came to see you? i have a friend there who will let me crash on her couch._

Yoohyeon feels a fluttering in her chest. She keeps reading the words “if i came to see you” over and over, until she remembers she’s supposed to respond. _no it wouldn’t be weird,_ she writes. _can’t wait!_ Smiley emoji. 

Then, out of curiosity, she googles trains from Hamburg to Berlin. According to the results, the trip takes about an hour and forty-five minutes. Siyeon is traveling an hour and forty-five minutes. To see _her._

The fluttering in Yoohyeon’s chest grows stronger. She smiles against the window. 

They meet up at the Brandenburg gate. Yoohyeon wanted to take pictures but the area is overcrowded with tourists and Siyeon didn’t eat breakfast, so they head to a bakery only half an hour later. Yoohyeon orders a pretzel and a coffee for each of them. 

“You speak German?” Siyeon asks, voice full of awe. 

Yoohyeon flushes. “A little. I like languages.”

“That’s so cool. What else do you speak?”

“English, some Japanese, some Mandarin…”

Siyeon’s eyes light up. “No way. The girl I’m staying with here is Chinese,” she takes a sip of her coffee. “We were actually planning on going clubbing tonight, if you want to come. I’m sure she’d love to meet you. I know you said it wasn’t your thing, but I just thought I’d...yeah.” 

It’s not like Yoohyeon has plans, and she does admittedly want to spend more time with Siyeon. “Are you sure I wouldn’t be cutting into your time together?”

“Please, she’s probably already tired of me,” Siyeon says with a shrug.

“Okay, then I’m in.”

Yoohyeon can’t believe how crowded the line outside this nightclub is. There’s barely room to stand on the sidewalk. Techno music thumps from inside the building, and Yoohyeon tugs at the bottom of her skirt, suddenly wishing she’d worn pants instead.

Siyeon, however, doesn’t seem fazed. “Dongie knows the bouncer tonight, don’t worry.”

As if she’d heard her name, a pretty girl with bright orange hair appears by Siyeon’s side. “Talked to Emil. We’re in. You must be Yoohyeon, I’m Dongie.” 

Yoohyeon shakes Dongie’s hand, greeting her in Mandarin. Both Dongie and Siyeon smile. 

If the music was loud outside, inside it’s _pounding._ It’s not Yoohyeon’s usual style, but they order a round of drinks, and by her third shot she’s feeling the beat. The three of them move to the dance floor together, and Siyeon is surprisingly into it — _really_ into it. She commits to a series of dramatic fist pumping, and Dongie doubles over in laughter. 

When they first met, Yoohyeon had assumed Siyeon was one of those girls who tries to be cool no matter the situation. But the more time they spend together, the more Yoohyeon sees a soft, dorkier side to her personality. She decides she likes it. 

Likes it a lot, in fact. 

It probably helps that Siyeon looks so good tonight, her everyday cargo pants and leather jacket offset by a stomach-baring crop top and smokey eye makeup. Yoohyeon can’t stop looking at her. Doesn’t want to stop looking at her. 

_An hour and forty-five minutes,_ Yoohyeon thinks. _Maybe..._

The alcohol in her blood is making her feel bold, and when the next song comes on, she wraps her arm around Siyeon’s shoulder, tugging her in. To Yoohyeon’s surprise and delight, Siyeon reciprocates, placing a hand on Yoohyeon’s waist and gently squeezing. The contact only lasts for a few seconds: Dongie stops dancing to eye them, and they pull apart. But the moment is enough to make Yoohyeon feel like a fire is burning beneath her. 

The hours seem to pass in a neon, techno-fueled haze. The three of them dance, and drink, and dance some more. Eventually, Yoohyeon finds herself in the bathroom, reassuring a drunk girl in broken German that she deserves better than her cheating boyfriend. When she finally emerges, Siyeon is waiting for her. 

“Where’s Dongie?” Yoohyeon asks. 

“She went home,” Siyeon says. “Said she was feeling fine, and she’s not the type to lie. I just thought I’d make sure you got back to your hostel safe.”

“That’s sweet,” Yoohyeon exclaims. Siyeon is really, really sweet. The kind of sweet that could keep Yoohyeon up at night.  
  
“Don’t worry about it.”  
  
Outside the club, the air is cooler and everything is quiet. Siyeon’s face glows under the lights in the parking lot, and Yoohyeon remembers the hand on her waist and _an hour and forty-five minutes._

“I want…” Yoohyeon starts, but stumbles over the words. Her head is still a little foggy. “I want to, um. I wanted to do something.”

“Yeah?” Siyeon says. When she turns towards Yoohyeon, her eyebrows are lifted in concern. _No,_ Yoohyeon thinks. “Is something wrong?” _It’s not like that._

“You’re nicer,” Yoohyeon says. Cautiously, she takes a step forward, close enough to see the individual flecks of glitter in Siyeon’s eyeshadow. “Nicer than you look.”

“I, um, get that a lot,” Siyeon says. It sounds breathy and flustered. Good. Siyeon is beautiful, and Yoohyeon really wants to kiss her. 

So she bends her neck, and does.

It lasts about a second. Long enough for Yoohyeon to feel Siyeon kissing back, and short enough for it to hurt when Siyeon quickly pulls away as if tasting poison on Yoohyeon’s lips. “No,” Siyeon says, shaking her head. “We can’t do this. We can’t.”

Immediately, Yoohyeon feels the pricklings of tears in her eyes. Fuck. Why does she have to be so goddamn sensitive all the time. Why does everything like this have to hurt so much. 

She doesn’t want Siyeon to see her cry, so she breaks into a run, hoping to get as far away as possible. A few moments later, she hears the sound of boots hitting the pavement as Siyeon rushes to catch up to her. By then, it’s already late. Her cheeks are wet with tears, and her mascara’s probably smudged too. 

“Hey, don’t run away like that,” Siyeon says, grabbing Yoohyeon by the arm. Yoohyeon stops running, but she also pulls away from Siyeon’s grip. 

“You don’t want me,” is what slips out of Yoohyeon’s mouth. The pavement is blurry shades of gray. “Nobody wants me.”  
  
“That’s not true. Believe me, that’s not true.”

“Then why…” Yoohyeon’s voice trails off. She probably shouldn’t say anything else. Siyeon isn’t required to like her back, and it would be cruel of Yoohyeon to hold a grudge. God, she feels lightheaded. 

“You’re drunk,” Siyeon says softly. Her hand comes up to cup Yoohyeon’s chin and Yoohyeon finds herself wishing Siyeon would stroke her cheek, despite herself. “And I don’t think you’re doing this for you.”

“Who else would I be doing this for?” Yoohyeon asks. But when she closes her eyes she sees a flash of purple, and she knows. She knows. 

But Minji feels so _far away_ right now. Further than she’s felt since the day Yoohyeon met her. And Yoohyeon is alone with Siyeon, in a city that’s seen everything, a city that was broken down the middle and still managed to turn out okay, eventually. And sure, Yoohyeon came to Europe to find herself, but if she found Siyeon instead, is it really that big of a deal? 

“If you’re worried about me, it’s...it can be casual,” Yoohyeon says. She remembers Siyeon’s words from Amsterdam — _it’s not a terrible way to cope_ — and how sick she felt the next day, because she’d been so hurt and didn’t know how to handle anything. “There are worse ways to cope, right?”

It’s meant to be a lighthearted statement. But Yoohyeon can visibly see when the impact of her words hits, because Siyeon’s face shifts from concerned to frustrated. She crosses her arms, and her gaze is suddenly too intense for Yoohyeon to handle. Still, she can’t look away.

“That’s not- that’s not the _problem_ , Yoohyeon,” Siyeon says. Her tone is shorter now, impatient. Her jaw is tight-set. 

“Then what’s the problem?”

Siyeon runs her hands through her hair, rubbing at her temples. “The problem is that you’re not casual, and I’m a way to cope.” Siyeon looks down at her feet. “You’re not casual to me, I mean.” 

Oh.

_Oh._

“Fuck,” Yoohyeon chokes out. The right words feel buried beneath a sea of guilt and a million other emotions. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean-”

“It’s alright,” Siyeon says, and swallows. “It’s my fault, falling for a girl I barely know who I met at a hostel and isn’t over her ex. I’ll take this as a learning opportunity, or whatever.”

Her words hurt, and Yoohyeon knows that it’s not true, and it isn’t alright. Yoohyeon messed up, big-time. There are things she should say, but everything in her head feels scrambled and stupid, and her mouth is dry. 

_You’re not a way to cope,_ Yoohyeon thinks. She tries to say it. But what comes out of her mouth is, “I just don’t know how to handle anything.” 

“Let’s get you home,” Siyeon mutters. 

They don’t talk on the metro platform, or on the train, or when they’re walking the two blocks between Ostbahnof station and Yoohyeon’s hostel building. It’s only when they reach the front door and it’s time to say goodbye that Siyeon speaks. “You know how to handle more than you think you do,” she says. “Everyone does, but you especially.” 

“You shouldn’t be so nice to me right now,” Yoohyeon says, embarrassment climbing up the back of her neck.

“Yeah, well, I'm a nice person,” Siyeon says, with a small shrug. 

“Yeah, you are,” Yoohyeon says. _I’m sorry._

Siyeon nods. It looks like she wants to say something else. Something important.

But Yoohyeon must have been reading too much into it, because all Siyeon says is, “see you around.” And then she turns and walks away. Yoohyeon watches her go, in case there’s a chance she’ll look back. It doesn’t happen. 

**Prague**

Yoohyeon thinks about doing it. On the train to Prague, she drafts multiple texts to Siyeon, writing out every possible way to say “hey, is there any chance you’re in the Czech Republic” and then deleting all of them. 

The morning after the fiasco with Siyeon, Yoohyeon woke up with a firm resignation in her stomach. There’s something she has to do, and she knows what it is. No more dancing around it. She can make things right with Siyeon when she’s thinking more clearly.  
  
Prague is almost impossibly gorgeous. Everywhere she looks, bits of artistry catch her eye — an ornate pattern on the side of a building, a sculpture, a flower bed. The sky is blue, and there’s a slight breeze in the air. If there’s any place she’ll be able to do this, it’s here. 

She finds a quiet bench in Letna Park and dials a familiar number. It rings three times before someone picks up. “Hello?” comes the voice on the other end, bright as always. 

_You know how to handle more than you think you do,_ Yoohyeon reminds herself. _Everyone does, but you especially._

“Hi, Minji.”

“Oh, Yoohyeon!” Minji exclaims. Yoohyeon grimaces slightly at the overly surprised tone. Minji may be a few years older, but she has caller ID like everyone else. “I wasn’t expecting to hear from you.”

“I wasn’t expecting to call you,” Yoohyeon confesses. The honesty feels strange, but also freeing. “But I’m in Europe and, um, there's some things I need to...is this a good time?" 

“It’s a good time,” Minji says, voice steady on the other end of the line. “Talk to me.”

Yoohyeon closes her eyes. The park is too pretty for all the ugly thoughts she needs to express. “You hurt me,” she says. “I mean, really hurt me. And I let you think you didn’t because I was always scared you were judging me. Because I never thought I was good enough for you.”

“Oh, Yoohyeon.”

“And when you dumped me it was like everything was confirmed, or something.” When Yoohyeon opens her eyes, a few tears leak out. She wipes them away. “Because you just moved on like it didn’t even happen, and I was just a dumb kid who never mattered.”

“You did matter, Yoohyeon,” Minji says. She sounds weak, suddenly, like she might also cry. Yoohyeon doesn’t know if that will make things feel better or not. “But unfortunately the reality is that we were at two very different places in our lives.” 

“Well obviously,” Yoohyeon says. “You were a grad student. You were my fucking TA.” 

“I know. I should have known from the beginning.” Minji laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “I just really liked you, and I’ve always been too much of an optimist in relationships. That’s my fault. I was irresponsible.”

The words seem to puncture whatever resolve was left inside Yoohyeon. “Cool, Minji.”

“Wait, that came out wrong,” Minji says quickly. “What I meant was that in my career, I was objectively irresponsible. But I don’t view dating you as a mistake. I loved you. I don’t regret anything.” 

_I loved you too,_ Yoohyeon thinks. She doesn’t feel the need to say it. Minji knows, anyway. “Thanks,” she says instead. 

“You’re welcome. I’m glad you called. This was nice,” Minji says. “But if you don’t mind me asking, is there any specific reason you chose right now? I imagine the costs are crazy over there.” 

Siyeon’s face comes to mind so fast it’s almost embarrassing. Yoohyeon knows there’s other reasons, knows she’s been putting this off for too long. But a reaction can be inevitable and still require a catalyst. “Just decided I needed closure, I guess.” 

“Well, Yoohyeon, that’s very mature of you.”

 _I’m an adult, and nothing you can say will make me feel like I’m not one,_ Yoohyeon almost says. But she doesn’t. Her problems aren’t Minji’s responsibility anymore. They’re not Minji’s fault, either. 

“Thank you,” Yoohyeon says. Her voice cracks, but she doesn’t dwell on it. “You’re doing well, from what I’ve seen. I’m, um, happy for you.” 

“I appreciate that. Enjoy your travels. Drink lots of wine for me.” 

_I ate a weed brownie for you, and it didn’t fix anything. But I’ll be okay, don’t worry. You don’t have to worry about me._

“Good-bye, Minji.”

“Good-bye, Yoohyeon.”

When she hangs up, something in Yoohyeon’s chest feels lighter. Like a knot being untied, or the clouds parting, or the Berlin wall being knocked down. Little victories. 

The next day, a girl from Yoohyeon’s hostel invites her to come sightseeing. Yoohyeon politely refuses. For a trip that was supposed to be about soul searching, she hasn’t done very much of it. But as her Mom would say, it’s never too late to start something. 

She picks up a free map of the city from the hostel reception. In the corner of the pamphlet, there’s a list labeled “Top 10 Must-Sees!” She circles it with the purple glitter pen she keeps in her wallet in case of emergency. 

_Tourist is a mindset,_ Siyeon had said. It’s an interesting way to look at things, for sure. To find new meaning in objective truth. Yoohyeon is more practical than she looks. She can try to reframe her thinking if she gives herself guidelines. 

_Objective truth: you are a tourist. New meaning: you are a tourist, but only if you choose to be._

_Objective truth: you feel like you don’t make good decisions. New meaning: you made a good decision today, even though it was hard._

_Objective truth: you feel young and clueless. New meaning: most of the time that’s okay._

Yoohyeon walks across the Charles bridge. Takes pictures of the statues and the water and the old men selling tiny figurines and oil paintings. She tries thinking about the greater meaning of things or whatever else she’s supposed to do while soul searching, but eventually gives up and decides it’s good enough to let herself be, and breathe, and soak it all in. 

For lunch, she eats cold cuts and potato dumplings that aren’t really dumplings at all. Then, she wanders some more. She buys souvenirs for her parents and Yubin. She takes more pictures. If a bad thought or feeling comes, she tries not to push it away. She lets herself experience all of it. 

_Objective truth: you make mistakes. New meaning: that doesn’t mean you’re a bad person._

When night falls, she goes to a bar with a group of people from the hostel whose names she won’t remember in the morning. They tell jokes and swap stories and Yoohyeon makes them laugh more times than she can count, which is surprising, but nice. One of the girls in Yoohyeon’s room drinks too much and Yoohyeon helps her into bed and lends her a water bottle. “You would have done the same thing,” she says, when the girl mumbles a thanks. “Don’t worry about it. Anytime.” 

_Objective truth: you’re not a bad person._

Before she falls asleep, she reaches for her phone, and opens her contacts list. 

_i lied,_ she writes. _you’re not casual for me._

This time, she sends it. 

**Paris**

According to Yubin, Paris is overrated. Something about the whole place smelling like stale cigarettes and urine. At the time, Yoohyeon had nodded and let her make her point. But now that she’s here, Yoohyeon can safely conclude that Yubin has no idea what she’s talking about. 

She’s sitting at an outdoor café overlooking the Seine, eating what is definitely the best croissant she’s ever eaten, but maybe only the third or fourth best croissant in Paris. She’ll have to do some additional research to check. Swarms of tourists flood the sidewalk, but Yoohyeon doesn’t mind. She’s decided she likes to blend in. It makes it easier to capture everything. 

Her phone rings. 

It’s Siyeon. 

Yoohyeon’s heartbeat speeds up. 

Siyeon never replied to the texts she sent in Prague, which Yoohyeon tries not to feel too shitty about, because she’s doing the whole living-in-the-moment thing, and also she’d understand if Siyeon never wants to talk to her again. So a _call_ was the last thing she expected. 

“Hey,” she says, in her best attempt at a casual voice. “Uh, what’s up?”

“Here’s the thing,” comes Siyeon’s voice on the other end of the line. “I don’t want to be calling you right now.”

Yoohyeon feels her stomach sink. “Oh. Um, we can hang up if you-”

“No, that’s not what I meant!” Siyeon says quickly. “What I meant was that I wanted to surprise you in Paris, but then I realized I didn’t know where you’re staying or any of your plans. And we’ve had pretty good luck running into each other, but I don’t want to leave it all up to luck this time. So tell me where you are, and I’ll come find you.”

Yoohyeon’s spirits soar so fast it practically gives her whiplash. She can’t bring herself to mind, even when she almost topples out of her chair with joy, and the lady at the table next to her gives her a stern glare. 

This can’t be real. It’s too good and more than she deserves and — she stops herself. Lives in the moment. Lets herself feel, and feel happy, and not think so hard. 

“Yoohyeon? Did I lose you?”

Right. She has to say something. “How did you know I was in Paris?”

“I hacked your Google Calendar,” Siyeon says, deadpan. When Yoohyeon doesn’t respond, she laughs. “Just kidding. You mentioned it when you were drunk at the club.” 

“Oh,” Yoohyeon says, “That makes sense.”

“Wait, you need to let me explain _how_ you mentioned it.”

“Do I really?”

“Yes, you do. They were playing Paris by the Chainsmokers for god knows what reason, and you stood on top of a table and said, and I quote, ‘GUYS! I’m going here!’” 

Yoohyeon wishes she could bury her head in her hands, but she’s also smiling. “Okay, I get the picture.”

“No, you don’t. Because you also _sang.”_

This moment feels so sweet, so impossibly perfect, that all Yoohyeon can do is laugh. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. You actually have a pretty voice.”

“You have a pretty, uh, everything,” Yoohyeon says, because she never got a chance before. “Don’t let it go to your head though.”

"You can worry about my head later."

“So you’re not mad?” Yoohyeon asks, squeezing the tip of one of her braids between her fingers. They’re french braids. Very thematic. 

“I was,” Siyeon confesses. “But I’m not anymore.”

“It’s okay if you are. I get it.”  
  
“I’m really not. We all fuck up sometimes. It’s just part of the journey.”

If there’s anything Yoohyeon knows to be true, it’s that. “You’re right. And thanks.” 

“So where should I meet you?” 

Yoohyeon glances around the café. It’s nice enough, and Siyeon would probably be down for an afternoon of people-watching. But she has a better idea. 

“This is cute,” Siyeon says, standing with her hands in her pockets, not seeming to care about the people pushing past her. Yoohyeon is pretty sure you’re not supposed to stand in the middle of the Pont des Arts, but she would never dream of saying anything. Not with Siyeon looking at her like that. “You’re really cute, Yoohyeon.” 

“I, um, feel kind of stupid,” Yoohyeon confesses. She tries not to get distracted by Siyeon’s arm around her waist. “I was going to buy us a padlock and do the whole ‘write our initials on it and throw the key in the river’ thing. But it turns out you’re not allowed to do that anymore. So it’s kind of just a regular bridge.” 

“How on earth did you mess up that badly?” Siyeon asks, but her tone is teasing. 

Yoohyeon whines in protest. “I wanted to do a big romantic gesture! I mean admittedly it’s hard to beat surprising me in Paris, but I figured it was worth a shot to try and one-up you.” 

“You’ll never one-up me,” Siyeon says. “So you can-” Yoohyeon cuts her off with a deep, heated kiss, fueled by a mix of impulsiveness, Siyeon’s smile, and a need to make things right. It appears to be worth it, because Siyeon responds, capturing Yoohyeon’s bottom lip in her mouth and bringing her hand from Yoohyeon’s waist to the back of her head. 

Vaguely, Yoohyeon is aware of people brushing past them. Nobody says anything. Yoohyeon supposes they’re just another love story in Paris, the kind that happens every day. 

“This is kind of ridiculous right?” Yoohyeon asks when they break apart, even though she’s so happy she feels like she might burst. “You barely know me.” 

“You’re right,” Siyeon says. “But I know that I like you.”

“Shut up,” Yoohyeon says, but she’s grinning wide, and she wants to kiss Siyeon again. So she does. This time, it’s softer and more gentle. The kind of kissing Yoohyeon could do for hours. She thinks about bringing up the idea, but decides to do it later. This is about now. 

“Besides, we’re young,” Siyeon says, appearing to continue her train of thought. “So who cares?”

Before Yoohyeon can voice her agreement, Siyeon is kissing her again. Yoohyeon can’t bring herself to mind. Besides, she’s pretty sure Siyeon gets the message. 

_Objective truth: you went on a trip to find yourself, and you found somebody else._

_New meaning: two things can be true at the same time. Fuck it._

**Author's Note:**

> content warning: a character is exes with her TA, and the difference in maturity as a result of the age difference is a point of angst for her. characters consume alcohol throughout this story and act irresponsibly under the influence. a character copes with her problems by eating an edible and experiences a bad trip. that should be all, but if there's anything i forgot to include, please be so kind to let me know!
> 
> you can follow me on twitter @leeyubln (two Ls)


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